


Don't Know What I'm Gonna Do (About This Feeling Inside)

by hazel1706



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield Have a Good Relationship, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, First Time, Getting Together, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Billy Hargrove, Sibling Bonding, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:40:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28124748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazel1706/pseuds/hazel1706
Summary: He’s barely had the chance to consider grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack on the counter, when there’s a knock at the door. He startles, slopping coffee on the floor, and cursing under his breath.It’s embarrassing how quickly his heart leaps, how he gets a little soft and mushy about the fact that someone’s here to see him. There’s no way it’s some rando, he lives in the middle of nowhere and it’s Christmas.He has to clear his throat and pace himself, hold back from rushing too eagerly to the door. Takes the time to put his mug down first, wipe the coffee off his hand, walk at a reasonable pace to the front door, and—It’s Steve.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove & Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 163
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2020





	Don't Know What I'm Gonna Do (About This Feeling Inside)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettyboyporter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/gifts).



> merry christmas!!!!! really hope you like it :) there's little sprinkles of angst but i promise it's mostly good times, i tried to keep it as warm and fuzzy as possible <3

**Friday, December 25th, 1987**

Billy was prepared to spend the day alone.

Or at least, that’s what he’s been telling himself. That he saw everyone a few days ago, exchanged gifts and got tipsy and had a good time. It was nice. Made his holiday season already leagues better than any of the ones before it. 

So he can spend Christmas by himself. Because at least he doesn’t have to spend it with Neil.

Still, waking up mid-morning with nothing to look forward to left him feeling a little hollow. Has him wondering if he shouldn’t have turned down Mrs.Byers’ invite. It would be weird, intruding on someone else’ Christmas, but...probably better than moping around thinking about getting drunk at 10am. 

Which is what he’s doing now. 

But he’s barely had the chance to consider grabbing the half-empty bottle of Jack on the counter, when there’s a knock at the door. He startles, slopping coffee on the floor, and cursing under his breath.

It’s embarrassing how quickly his heart leaps, how he gets a little soft and mushy about the fact that someone’s here to see him. There’s no way it’s some rando, he lives in the middle of nowhere and it’s  _ Christmas _ . 

He has to clear his throat and pace himself, hold back from rushing  _ too _ eagerly to the door. Takes the time to put his mug down first, wipe the coffee off his hand, walk at a  _ reasonable _ pace to the front door, and —

It’s Steve.

Steve is here to see him. Steve is standing on his front porch with snow in his hair, wrapped up in more winter gear than Billy even owns, and grinning like the fucking sun. 

“Hey! Merry Christmas!” 

And...Billy hasn’t even finished his coffee. He’s groggy. Wholly unprepared for all...this. Bright-eyed, happy-to-see-him, boy of his dreams showing up out of nowhere like some kind of Christmas fucking miracle looking unfairly gorgeous in a dumb poofy coat and fucking _ khakis _ . 

He blinks. “...Hi.”

Steve peers over his shoulder, into the cluttered living room behind Billy. “You, uh, gonna let me in, or…?”

“Shit, yeah.” Billy steps aside, trying to surreptitiously fix his hair as Steve walks past. Not much he can do about the fact that he’s in sweats and a loose-fitting t-shirt, but he can at least look  _ semi- _ presentable.

Apparently he was less than subtle, because Steve smirks at him while shedding his coat. “Don’t worry, the bedhead is cute.”

“Shut up,” he responds, deadpan despite the warm squiggly feelings in his chest. He’s not even sure if Steve  _ meant _ it, but it’s still enough to get his dumb heart tripping over itself.

That kind of shit’s been happening a lot lately, and Billy has no idea what to make of it. Safer not to make  _ anything _ of it and just enjoy his scraps, but, well, Billy doesn’t always make smart decisions. And he can’t help wondering.

Too much to be thinking about without coffee.

He ambles back to the kitchen, and has a few moments alone to get his shit together while Steve finishes unbundling himself. 

“I didn’t ruin any plans by showing up here, did I?” Steve calls from the other room. 

Billy snorts quietly, shoving his whiskey back in the cupboard where it belongs. “Nothing important.”

Granted, he could count on one hand the number of things that would be more important than spending time with Steve, but still. 

“Well, good.” Steve pops into view, adjusting the truly horrible sweater he was hiding under that jacket. “My parents are still in Italy, and they called last night, so…”

Knowing Steve’s parents (by reputation anyways) they would’ve outright said not to expect more than a phonecall on Christmas Eve. Told Steve not to call the next day because they had plans or some shit. Whatever it is rich people do in Europe over the holidays. Wine tastings or something. 

Their loss.

But there’s a crease between Steve’s eyebrows now. A sad tilt to his mouth that Billy deeply resents. 

“Harrington, that sweater is a crime against nature,” he says from behind his coffee cup, giving Steve an exaggerated once-over that is mostly just for show. At least, the judgemental nose-wrinkle is, the blatant staring is all for Billy. Khakis might be fucking atrocious but damn if Steve doesn’t fill them out well. 

The sweater though, there’s no excusing that. There are cross-eyed reindeer on it.

Steve looks down at himself, then back up at Billy. “It’s  _ festive.” _

“It’s assaulting my eyes.”

A laugh bursts out of Steve, sudden and loud, the kind that crinkles his nose and makes his eyes shine. It’s short, but his smile lingers.

Billy hides a smug grin in another sip of coffee. Take that Mr and Mrs Harrington. One dumb joke and you’re forgotten. 

He’s getting better at figuring out what makes Steve smile. It’s one of his favourite skills now, honestly. And he puts it to good use. Makes  _ sure _ Steve’s shitty parents are the last thing on his mind. 

By the time Billy’s finished his coffee Steve has dissolved into giggles no less than four times, and Billy is fucking ecstatic, his heart a warm, glowing thing. He allows himself a lingering look at Steve—taking in the way he lights up when he’s happy, how he laughs with his whole body—before he turns to put his mug in the sink, hiding a smile. It takes a couple seconds for him to stop grinning like an idiot while Steve gets his chuckling under control. 

When he turns back around Steve is watching him, head tilted. There’s a warmth in his eyes that Billy would tentatively describe as  _ fondness _ . That look always takes his breath away. 

Steve breaks the silence while Billy is still recovering. “So, what were you going to do today? Before I showed up.”

“Oh.” Billy scratches his chin, stubble rasping under his fingernails. Yeah, there’s no way he’s answering that question honestly, so he jumps on the first lie that comes to mind. “I was gonna...bake cookies.”

Jesus, he hasn’t made Christmas cookies in years. His mom used to let him help when Neil wasn’t around. Put him to work with a cookie cutter and acted like every lopsided tree and thumbprinted snowman was a masterpiece. Even let him ice some of them, childish scribbles and blobby fill-ins, snowmen with crooked smiles and mismatched eyes. Then they’d eat as many as they could before Neil got home, packing up the rest of them to give to the neighbours. 

He’s got her recipe book somewhere tucked away. It was one of the things he saved after she left, put the dust jacket from a copy of  _ Lord of the Flies _ on it and hid it in plain sight for years. Max was confused as hell when he gave her the list of shit to pack up for him after he was released from the hospital, but he couldn’t just leave it at Neil’s house.

Good thing too, because Steve perks up, and says, “You were?” with a tone that definitely implies he would like there to be cookies in his near future, and Billy’s not about to disappoint him. 

“Yeah.” He shrugs, “I mean, I still could, I guess,”

As expected, Steve is all for this, but what he did not expect was Steve’s offer to help. 

He knows Steve can cook, he fed himself when his parents were away and never burned their house down, but there’s a difference between tossing together some mac n’ cheese and  _ baking. _ So he’s skeptical when Steve rolls his sleeves up and asks what Billy needs him to do.

Plus, he has to bite back a couple remarks about what he’s  _ like _ Steve to do, his gaze drawn to Steve’s bare forearms, pale skin dotted with faded freckles, lines of muscle shifting as he crosses his arms. The urge to reach out touch is over-fucking-whelming, his mind running wild wondering what those muscles would look like flexing, fingers fisted, stroking himself, wrist tensing, and it’s  _ embarrassing _ how worked up he’s getting over some goddamn forearms.

But they’re Steve’s goddamn forearms.

He manages not to make a complete fool of himself though, and responds like a normal person who isn’t swooning over bare wrist. 

And he puts Steve to work, doing basic shit, grabbing ingredients, measuring and stirring. Though he hesitates to let him stir anything because the last thing Billy needs right now is to be  _ more  _ distracted by Steve’s stupid arms. 

It’s fine. He manages.

And it’s nice. Quiet, but not the same kind of quiet it was before Steve came over. Not the empty kind. This is...domestic, almost. Their fingers brushing when Steve hands him a bowl, standing elbow to elbow at the counter while Billy checks to make sure he’s measured out the right stuff. Billy touching Steve’s waist as he walks past him to get to the fridge, on instinct, not realizing he’s done it until he turns back around and Steve’s still blinking at him. 

He doesn’t know what to make of the way Steve looks away hurriedly, cheeks pinking.

He knows what he  _ wants _ to make of it, but…

The thought sticks in his brain though. The maybes. The what ifs. They linger.

When it’s time to roll the dough out Billy, figuring it’s an easy enough job, lets Steve do it while he cleans up. 

But he’s only gotten a couple things in the sink when he realizes Steve has no idea what he’s doing. 

He blinks. Snickers. “You, uh, need a little help there?” he asks, voice trembling with barely suppressed laughter.

Steve rolls his eyes, and hands off the rolling pin wordlessly. 

“Just, watch me.”

“Yeah, not a problem,” Steve mutters. 

Billy’s ears heat. Just a little, and he bites the inside of his cheek. Focus. On the flour dusting his fingers, the sweet-scented dough he’s supposed to be flattening, squaring his shoulders and not looking like he’s flexing  _ too _ purposefully as he leans into it. 

“Like this, alright? It’s not hard.” He glances over at Steve. Who blinks at him, and rubs the back of his neck.

“Uh, sure. Sure. Okay.” He nods as he babbles, and Billy hands the rolling pin back with a dubious look. He raises his eyebrows, waiting for Steve to step up. It takes him a second, and he’s slow, holding the pin like it’s gonna bite him.  “Like this?”

Billy bites back a smile. “Not...quite.” 

Steve turns to him, looks him in the eye for a long moment. “Show me.”

“I...did.”

“No.” He gestures with his elbows, jerking his chin to beckon Billy over,  _ “Show _ me.”

Oh. Oh no. 

That’s...that has to be flirting. Right? Real flirting, not dumb jokes between friends, this is…well, it’s the kind of dumb shit Billy pulled when he had the confidence to. It’s so much easier to pick up on signals and put yourself out there when you aren’t emotionally invested in the outcome.

Billy bites his lip, searches Steve’s face for any signs of teasing. But he’s just smiling, expectant, eyebrows raised a little, expression an open book that Billy’s just been scared to read. 

He exhales. “Okay.”

Stepping up behind Steve, he reaches out, hesitating just short of touching him. The scent of him is dizzying this close, the warmth radiating from his back so inviting. Billy touches the inside of his elbows, the sensitive skin soft under his calloused hands. He takes another step forward, closer, sliding his fingers down Steve’s forearms, combing through the dark hair dusting his skin, stopping when their hands are parallel, Billy’s fingertips resting on Steve’s knuckles.

His palms are sweating, but Steve’s not pulling away, he’s pressing back against Billy’s chest, breath coming shallower, shivering under Billy’s touch. 

Billy rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder, honey-scented hair tickling his ear. “Like this,” he says quietly, and shifts Steve’s fingers around for him, correcting his grip. 

When he’s holding the pin properly, Billy pushes their hands together, showing him how to roll the dough flat, where to apply pressure. But as he does, he shifts closer, plastered against Steve’s back. Steve lets slip a punched-out gasp, just barely audible, when Billy’s bulge brushes the swell of his ass. He’s starting to chub up, drunk on touch and the way Steve arches against him, tingling and warm and —

Billy pulls away, skittish suddenly, fiddling with the hem of his shirt and shuffling back. Steve sways, trying to regain his balance, glancing over his shoulder at Billy, a question in his eyes that Billy doesn’t have the answer to. 

He’s already mourning the loss, feeling cold without Steve nearby, feeling like an idiot for stepping away.

But Steve is looking at him without judgement. Waiting for him to choose where this goes from here. And...something in Billy’s chest untwists. He sighs. 

“That’s...how you do that. I...I’m gonna. Finish. Washing up.” Smooth. Very smooth. He cringes internally.

And to think, he used to be good at this shit. 

Steve smiles at him anyways, nods, lets it go. He turns back to the dough like nothing happened, suddenly suspiciously competent. 

_ Oh. _

Okay. Yeah, Billy definitely just dropped the ball on a sure thing, but he’s more focused on the weirdly pleasant swoopy feelings in his stomach., the giddy rush of knowing Steve was flirting _.  _ Billy might be rusty as hell at this and nowhere near the catch he used to be, but Steve was  _ flirting. _

He’s got a shot? Maybe? 

It’s honestly more surreal than finding out there were literal alien monster things in Hawkins, Indiana, at least he’d had some experience with monsters, this…

This is…

This is something else entirely. Fuck he’s so out of his depth, and he doesn’t even care. More than willing to drown for just the  _ chance _ . The  _ maybe _ there’s something here. 

He shifts his weight around a little, shuffling around before he sidles up to the counter and leans his hip against it, facing Steve. “What’s your favourite cookie?”

Steve blinks at him. Stares for a second, then turns away, bowing his head with a little half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I had this nanny, when I was, like, five. She used to make the best cookies. Dunno what they’re called, they’re like brownie bites covered in powdered sugar, but. Cookies.” He chuckles, quietly, to himself. “When we put out a plate of them for Santa that year I snuck out of bed to eat them myself.”

Billy grins wide, watching the crinkles at the corner of Steve’s eye fondly. “Ah, so you’ve always been a rebel then,” he says, mock-serious and failing to keep his tone neutral. Steve snorts.

“Sure,” he drawls, and starts rolling the dough again, head tilted. “It’s how I found out Santa wasn’t real. ‘Cause my parents got pissed at me in the morning, and let it slip when they were telling me off.” 

Billy hisses through clenched teeth, nose wrinkled. “Oof. Parents, man. You got me beat, my dad didn’t ruin it for me ‘til I was six.” He sighs, gaze tracing the line of Steve’s shoulders as he works. “But Mom bought me my first board that year to make up for it, so.” He shrugs 

“Do you miss it?” 

“What, surfing? That’s flat enough by the way.” He touches Steve’s elbow, lightly, to stop the rolling pin. “Grab two glasses and some flour,” he adds, pointing to the cupboard. “Yeah, I miss it. Miss the ocean. And not freezing my ass off.”

Steve hands him a glass, frowning. “Do...you think you’ll go back? To California.” 

Billy starts cutting out cookies, carefully, chewing the inside of his cheek while he weighs the question. “I...don’t think so. It was great, when I was a kid, y’know? But a lot’s happened since then. There’s bad memories there too. And…” He glances at Steve. “There are things here worth staying for.” 

The statement comes out heavier than intended. Takes all the air in the lungs with it as it leaves his mouth. His hands tremble slightly when Steve meets his gaze, eyebrows raised. 

The moment stretches, Steve searching for something, gaze roaming Billy’s face and the corner of his mouth upturned. When he meets Billy’s eyes again his expression is warm. 

“Tews.” he says, nodding sagely.

Billy bursts out laughing.

“You can’t fool me, you love that cat.” Steve’s lips twitch with suppressed amusement.

“Sure, Bambi, you caught me.”

He’s only been to the Henderson’s a handful of times, but every time he’s there that cat is all over him, rubbing up against his shin and chirping until he’s picked up. There’s a polaroid somewhere of Billy with Tews perched on his shoulder, grooming his eyebrow. He’s not sure where the picture ended up, but he knows no one listened to him when he grumbled about throwing it out. 

The cat sure as shit isn’t why he’s still in Hawkins but he does love the damn thing. 

“Knew it,” Steve replies smugly, grinning. 

They chat, about nothing, about Dustin’s latest project blowing up at school, about Max giving herself a nose ring that got infected immediately, about California, and white Christmases. The next thing Billy knows it’s been hours, the counter is littered with sugar cookies, and Steve is sitting in the comfy chair across from the loveseat—his dumb floppy hair looking particularly good for no reason at all—staring out the window at the snow. 

And Billy is...happy. Hopeful, maybe. 

“Help me with something, pretty boy?” Billy asks suddenly, and Steve looks over, startled, blinking. Billy grins, tongue between his teeth, feeling lighter than air, a foreign feeling he doesn’t examine too closely for fear of bursting whatever bubble he’s found his way into. 

“...Sure? What —” Steve chokes a little, cutting himself off when Billy starts tugging his shirt off. By the time he’s pulled it over his head and tossed it aside Steve’s gotten himself  _ mostly _ composed, but there’s no hiding the pink flush on his cheeks, or the way he’s deliberately staring just past Billy’s shoulder.

So, maybe he doesn’t turn as many heads as he used to, doesn’t peacock around as much, but this right here, knowing he can fluster Steve fucking Harrington? Yeah, this is way better. 

“I haven’t put lotion on my scars yet today,” Billy says, smiling at Steve with the  _ utmost _ innocence when he makes eye-contact. Though he only looks at Billy’s  _ eyes _ for a couple seconds, before his gaze drops a little. And flickers away. And back. 

His cheeks darken further. “O...kay. Yeah, I can, uh, I can help with that.” 

Best Christmas ever.

After Billy grabs a bottle of lotion from the bathroom (and checks his hair in the mirror) he settles in on the couch, perched close enough to the edge of the cushion that when Steve sits across from him on the coffee table, their knees touch. 

He starts with the pink spiderwebbing along Billy’s side. The first touch is hesitant, so light Billy can’t actually feel it. He’s tempted to look, check to see if Steve is even touching him, but he can’t tear his eyes away from Steve’s furrowed brow, the deliberate way he tracks his own movement, eyes tracing the same path along Billy’s scars that his fingers follow. And while he’s occupied...Billy watches. 

The shadows his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones, the way he bites his lip a little when he’s focused. Everything about him, from the slope of his jaw to his stupid floppy hair, is fucking  _ art _ . Prettier than any goddamn painting, Billy could look at him for hours. 

His attention is split somewhat when Steve’s touch gets more insistent, the press of his fingertips against Billy’s ribs pushes a sharp exhale from him, and suddenly Steve’s  _ hands _ are of great interest too. 

Not that they ever weren’t but…

Feeling them on his skin is a whole lot different than staring at them from across a room.

But his quiet gasp draws Steve’s attention, and he stills, eyes flicking up to meet Billy’s. Whatever he sees on Billy’s face makes him blink, pause, lips parting slightly. After a second he asks, “You okay?” quietly, voice a little rough, gaze searching. 

Now, normally the fact that his expression is clearly giving something away would be enough for him to close up, pull back. But today he’s just...letting it happen. There’s a distant sort of terror at his own recklessness but he’s not feeling it in his gut like he usually would. Instead there’s butterflies. 

He nods, and a half-smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. A soft, tiny thing, that Steve returns after a beat.

The moment stretches on, Steve’s palm warming Billy’s side, the cheap, baby-powder-and-aloe scent of lotion thick in the air, and Billy losing his goddamn mind over the little flecks of greenish-gold in Steve’s eyes. 

Steve looks away first, glancing down as he resumes his ministrations, but his expression remains warm, lips curved into a pleased little grin that crinkles the corners of his eyes. His breaking eye-contact comes across more  _ shy _ than an attempt to ignore what just happened, and...it’s fucking adorable.

Despite the bashful way he bows his head, his touch is firm, hands steady. Billy has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from whining, needy and desperate for  _ more _ , more than a steady hand on his side, rubbing circles into his skin. 

The touch sets him aflame, flushed and wanting. Thoughts of strong hands holding him close, fingers splayed on his ribs, pulling close, closer, til they’re entwined, hot breath on his neck and sweat running down his back. 

Steve warms another dollop of lotion in his hands before he spreads it over Billy’s chest. His heart clenches almost painfully, stuttering against his ribs.

Time seems to slow, but he could have sat there for hours and not noticed. Every shallow breath, every careful stroke of Steve’s fingers across his skin, he commits the sensations to memory as moments pass in a languid, syrupy sort of drawl. 

He’s thorough, massaging the ropes of scar tissue crisscrossing Billy’s sternum much longer than necessary to rub some lotion on. Tracing patterns in the starburst, lines radiating out from the knot in the centre. When Billy does this for himself he’s efficient, clinical. Trying his best not to linger. But Steve does so much more than linger. He revels. With such intensity Billy can’t help but glow with pride under his reverent fingers. 

Eventually, his hands still, one falling away, and the other flat against Billy’s skin, bare, unscarred skin, flushed from the attention and sensitive enough to coax out a shiver. Steve’s palm is pressed over Billy’s heart, surely feeling how fast his pulse is racing.

There’s no hiding now, not at this point. It’s terrifying and liberating all at one.

Billy reaches up, curling his fingers around Steve’s, watching his face carefully as he does. Steve’s gaze flicks upward, cautious, surprised. There’s a pause. 

Steve slips his free hand into his pocket. “I...brought something for you,” he says quietly, fiddling with whatever it is, gaze searching Billy’s face, tracing his mouth, his brow, the curve of his cheek. 

And...Billy is used to being looked at, but not like this. Not with such care, and something else lighting Steve’s expression that Billy is still hesitant to put a name to. 

Steve pulls his hand out of his pocket and—

Billy lets out a surprised bark of laughter, disbelieving, delighted laughter. Steve looks a little sheepish, but Billy is  _ beaming. _

It’s mistletoe. A little sprig of felt and plastic berries, lopsided and linty. This cheesy motherfucker has been walking around with  _ mistletoe  _ in his pocket this whole damn time. 

Billy has never loved anyone as much as he loves Steve right fucking now, what a  _ dork _ . 

“For  _ me,  _ huh?” 

Steve’s index finger traces absent-minded circles along Billy’s collarbone. “Mhm.” He leans forward just a bit, watching Billy carefully, “If you want it.”

And Billy grins, squeezes Steve’s hand. He feels like he could float away he’s so goddamn giddy. “Pretty boy, you have no idea.”

Steve’s responding smile is bright and beautiful and takes Billy’s breath away. It’s like gravity has shifted, no longer keeping him grounded, instead pulling him forward. He’s spent years wanting what he thought he couldn’t have, and now…

Now Steve is close enough for their noses brush, and his soft sigh sends a shiver down Billy’s spine, leaves his lips warm and tingling. His eyes fall shut, the world narrowing to this single moment, this one boy, the press of his palm against bare skin, points of contact hot, searing, his heart pounding underneath. 

And the door crashes open. 

Billy jolts back, shocked, Steve flails, trying to stay upright. Out of the corner of his eye Billy spots a flash of green soaring through the air, but his gaze is focused on Max.

Who is standing in the doorway red-faced and staring pointedly at the ceiling. “I didn’t realize you’d have company,” she mumbles.

“The extra car in the driveway wasn’t enough of a tip-off?” Billy responds flatly, voice miraculously steady despite his trembling hands and racing heart.

Max sighs, loudly, and buries her face in her hands, “Not what I meant,” she groans, muffled by her palms.

A gust of wind sends loose flakes of snow swirling through the air, and onto the carpet.

“Jesus, Max, close the fuckin’ door!” 

“Alright, alright, jeez.” 

As she obliges—grumbling and tossing her boots haphazardly onto the mat next to the door—Billy glances over at Steve, who’s looking a little shell-shocked, wide-eyed and unfocused. 

He reaches out, instinctively, and touches Steve’s knee. Lightly, fingertips skimming pressed cloth, just to get his attention, hopefully pull him back to earth. 

It works, thank fuck. Steve blinks at him, startled, but he softens when Billy smiles at him, small and (hopefully) reassuring. He’s not sure if Steve’s ever kissed a boy before, let alone been  _ caught _ , but if this is his first time, he’s taking it a lot better than Billy did. 

Still, lack of punches being thrown aside, getting outed is...not fun. And Billy is determined to make this easier for Steve than it was for him.

His heart skips a beat when Steve touches the back of his hand, caressing his knuckles and returning his smile. 

“So, are you guys, like...together now?” Max cuts in, and they both pull back immediately, breaking eye contact. “Hey, no, it’s fine...” she tugs on her braid, fiddling with the end, face pinched into a frown. “Look, I’m sorry for barging in.”

“You, uh, you didn’t know, it’s. Fine,” Steve stammers, voice an octave too high. “...But you could’ve knocked.”

Max grimaces, hanging her coat on the back of a chair. “Sorry.”

Now that the initial shock is starting to fade, Billy’s brain is a jumble of frantic questions. How is Steve going to react to this? And Max. What’s she gonna do? Is Steve okay with someone knowing about...whatever it is they are? What  _ are _ they? 

But somewhere near the top of the pile is the question of Max’s being here at all. Considering all the monsters in her life, petal-faced or otherwise, her showing up unexpectedly always sets off alarm bells. Warranted or not. 

She doesn’t look particularly distressed, mostly just embarrassed, but…

“Steve?” Billy says quietly, nudging their knees together. Steve looks at him, questioning, and Billy hopes his intentions are clear enough that Steve gets it. “Can you give us a sec?” Guilt tugs at him, weighing heavy in his gut. It’s stupid. He’s not asking for much, but still, he hates asking at all.

“Yeah, of course.” Steve’s response is instant, and without malice, and really, Billy’s not sure what else he expected from Steve. “I’ll just, y’know, be over here.” He points over his shoulder, in no particular direction, with a sheepish smile. 

The clumsy way he tries to lighten the mood, miraculously, works, but only because his fumbling is adorable and Billy is so far gone he can’t even see where he started anymore. 

He smiles small and warm and just for Steve, flushing when it’s returned. The unabashed affection in how Steve looks at him is slightly overwhelming. As is the brush of his hand as he stands, a subtle touch to Billy’s shoulder, upwards through the stray locks of hair at the nape of his neck. It’s shockingly intimate for a gesture so fleeting and outwardly incidental. Billy can’t help but lean into the caress, chasing more, in those few seconds not caring that they aren’t alone. 

It doesn’t go unnoticed, Steve’s eyes soften, and after a quick, nervous glance over at Max—who’s very deliberately tucking her scarf into her jacket pocket, pointedly not looking at them—he presses a lingering kiss into Billy’s curls. 

“Call if you need me,” he whispers before pulling back and wandering off, leaving Billy staring after him, brain producing nothing but static. 

Max clears her throat. “Dude, you wanted to talk to me?” she pokes at him with an amused lilt. 

Right. Yes. Billy mentally shakes himself, blinks and refocuses on his sister. She raises her eyebrows.

“Yeah. Yeah…” he rubs his forehead.  _ Focus.  _ “I just wanted to know… You’re okay, right?”

She rolls her eyes. She usually does, when he asks if she’s alright. Maybe a sign that he asks too often, but he resolutely ignores that possibility. “I’m fine.”

Neil usually takes holidays off from being a  _ complete _ piece of shit, but there’s a first time for everything. Can’t be too careful. He gives her a suspicious once-over. Which she scoffs at.

“I’m just...looking out for you, alright,” he sighs.

Her shoulders slump. “I know. But I got permission to leave for a couple hours and everything, okay? No sneaking out, no funny business. It’s all good.”

“Fine, fine.” He raises his hands in mock-surrender. At the tip of his tongue is  _ then why  _ are  _ you here _ , but he swallows it. Things don’t have to be shitty elsewhere for her to want to be here, he reminds himself. It’s still weird sometimes. Her wanting to be around him. Hell, him wanting her around is still pretty fucking weird too. But he does. He’s  _ happy _ she’s here, that he gets to see his little sister on Christmas. 

And isn’t that a fucking trip.

“Sooo…” She raises her eyebrows, a smile starting to tug at the corners of her mouth.

“Don’t even—”

“You and Steve?”

_ “Max.” _

“Oh, come on. You two have been making googly eyes at each other for ages, it’s about time someone did something about it.”

“We have not. Shut up.”

“You have. When did this even happen? Was it at his Christmas party on Monday? I knew there was something going on—”

“No.”

She squints at him. “Then when…?”

_ “Today _ , alright?” Billy slumps against the couch cushion at his back with a soft  _ thump _ , and he lets out an irritated sigh. “Sort of. Nothing even happened, because some annoying little redhead barged in.”

“Oh.” Max grimaces. “Whoops.”

_ “Whoops,” _ Billy parrots back at her, rolling his eyes. He turns away, grabbing his discarded shirt and pulling it over his head. 

“I didn’t know, okay! I’m sorry!”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“For real, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have—”

“Relax, shitbird. I’m glad you’re here.”

He didn’t really mean to say it. Not outright like that. But something about her wide-eyed apologies didn’t sit right with him, and, hell, maybe the residual high from what happened with Steve earlier has just put him in the mood to spread a little holiday cheer or whatever. 

She blinks at him. Grins, wide and real, shades of that little kid he used to know back before he fucked everything up between them. 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he mutters, a traitorous smile rendering the comment entirely toothless. And then he’s being knocked sideways, with Max’s arms thrown around his neck, her cheek smushed against his bicep. “Jesus, alright, hi.” 

His palm settles on her shoulder.

“Too late. You love me,” Max’s mumbles into his shirt, voice suspiciously wobbly. 

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah, you got me.”

“Ha... Loser.”

“Brat.”

“Asshole.”

“Dweeb.”

“...I love you too, y’know.”

Billy’s eyes sting. “I know.”

She pulls away, sniffling. “And I’m glad you and Steve are finally getting your shit together. He makes you happy. You deserve some happy.”

“I’m gonna ignore that first part because it’s Christmas.” He flicks her forehead and she bats him away, grinning. “Listen...he and I haven’t…” Billy sighs, running a hand through his hair, and Max’s expression grows more serious as she waits for him to continue. “We haven’t talked any of this through yet. I need you to keep this shit under wraps, Max. For his sake. Not even your little nerd squad can know yet, alright.”

The guilt written all over her face is answer enough on its own. “I promise, I won’t tell anyone. I’m not...I’m not twelve anymore, I—”

“Okay, Max, it’s okay.”

And for the first time he means it. He decided to stop giving Max a hard time forever ago, but a part of him was still clinging to that anger. Didn’t matter that he’d decided to ignore it, it was still  _ there. _ He’d told her over and over again he was over it, trying to rebuff her apologies, not wanting to talk about it. He’d lied to her and to himself, trying to make it go away, but now, saying the words...it feels different.

She blinks at him, mouth opening and closing silently. 

Something tells him she felt it too.

“Are you two done yet? I’ve eaten  _ so _ many cookies,” Steve calls from the other room.

Billy snorts. “Yeah, we’re good.”

The moment was over the second Steve interrupted. Which is a blessing in disguise, really, Max clearly didn’t know what to say and Billy’s not sure how much more sibling bonding he could handle anyways. It’s taken them years to get to where they are now, and there’s still work to do, shit they need to put behind them, but for now they’ve done enough. 

It’s Christmas, and Max didn’t come here for a goddamn therapy session.

The thought twigs something though, and Billy narrows his eyes at Max as Steve re-enters the room. “Wait, how did you even get here?”

It’s not like Neil or Susan could have driven her. She may have gotten permission to leave the house but she  _ definitely _ wouldn’t have been honest about where she was going. But she must’ve gotten a ride from someone, because her skateboard wouldn’t have cut it and she’s already gotten  _ so  _ many warnings from Hopper about driving on her own when all she’s got is a learner’s permit. He was pretty pissed last time, enough that El had gotten involved and asked Max to stop on his behalf. Billy’s pretty sure that finally convinced her, it’s not like anyone but Hop can say no to El.

Max sighs, loudly, and rolls her eyes. “Got a ride.”

“No shit. From  _ who.”  _

“Nancy.”

_ “Wheeler?” _

“Yes  _ Wheeler. _ I don’t know any other Nancys.”

Billy grits his teeth against the rising discomfort tightening his throat. It’s stupid. He knows it. But he’s never gotten along with Wheeler, and it was always by design. He doesn’t  _ want _ to get along with her. Doesn’t want to talk to her. Doesn’t want her around his sister or his...Steve. 

And that’s the crux of it, really. Steve. He’s over Nancy and everything that happened with her (he says) but Billy isn’t. Hasn’t forgotten that first night he met Steve, watching him leave that stupid Halloween party fighting back tears. The look on his face, not two days later, when he found out from Tommy  _ fucking _ Hagan, of all people, that his girlfriend had cut class with some other guy. 

And Steve blamed himself. Still  _ does _ . No matter how casually he talks about it nowadays, it always comes back to what  _ he _ did wrong, and that doesn’t sit right with Billy.

Steve plops down on the couch next to Billy, shuffles over ‘til they’re thigh-to-thigh. “Bet she was just itching to get out of the house today, good call, Max,” he says, pressing his knee to Billy’s, firmly enough that it can’t be accidental. 

“Yeah, she basically ran out the second I asked,” Max grimaces, “I mean I called you first, but I figured, y’know, Mike’s been complaining  _ constantly _ about how awkward Christmas is gonna be this year, so...”

Oh, right, the Wheeler family drama. It was the talk of the town for a while, which, in Billy’s opinion, is really just a sign that these people need to get out more. Or at least sort out their priorities. A whole mall burned down two years ago and some unfulfilled housewife getting a divorce is still gossip-worthy somehow. 

And middle-child Wheeler hadn’t stopped complaining about it since it happened, so naturally, Max hasn’t stopped complaining about  _ Mike _ , which means Billy’s been kept up to date on all the dirty details he really could’ve lived without.

Apparently, despite the divorce, the Wheelers are all celebrating Christmas together, because...family. Or something. Which sounds like an awful idea to Billy, but it’s not like Karen Wheeler’s never done stupid shit before, so, not terribly surprising.

Not that he’s got room to judge when it comes to poor life choices.

“She said she’ll probably be, like, an hour at Robin’s, and then she’s coming to pick me up.”

Steve perks up at the mention of his best friend. “She’s going to see Robin?”

There’s a tone to how he says it, and Billy feels like he’s missing something. He squints at Steve, who, of course, looks entirely innocent. 

Hm.

Seems like Max isn’t in on it, if the rest of the conversation’s anything to go by. She’s shit at secrets, he would’ve noticed if she was being cagey. Though to be fair, he might have missed something. Steve’s hand on his knee and general proximity is...distracting.

And he stays like that the whole time. Pressed against Billy’s side, drawing patterns on his thigh. Hard to think about Nancy fuckin’ Wheeler and her boring-ass social life when something a lot more interesting is sitting right next to him, with hands on him, touching him so casually. 

Billy has been...intimate with men before. Sort of. He’s let men manhandle him, bend him over the sink in a filthy bar bathroom, slip inside and leave him sore and dripping. He’s touched, been touched. There was a boy, back in California, who he even might have loved. Who kissed him when they were done rutting under the pier. Stroked his hair when he was on his knees in the sand. 

Ran, when Neil caught them.

He doesn’t think Steve would leave him behind like that.  _ Knows _ he wouldn’t. And that certainty is both terrifying and reassuring. 

Intimacy with Steve is different. His touch isn’t just warm and solid, a body to cling to, he’s...safe.

That’s not something Billy has a lot of experience with.

Sitting here crowded up against another boy, all cozy in his house, in front of his  _ sister _ , is…weird. It’s weird. But it’s  _ nice _ . He’s a little lightheaded thinking about it, watching Steve without having to act like he isn’t. Tracking the way he licks his bottom lip constantly between sentences. Staring at the little cluster of moles dotting the side of his neck. 

Thinking about mapping constellations with his tongue...

And then for the second time that day his moment is ruined by someone showing up at his house. 

At least Wheeler knocks before letting herself in. 

“Hey,” she sticks her head in first, peeking through to glance around, “I’m here to pick up Max.” Her gaze lands on Steve and Billy. There’s a recognition there. Something in her eyes that Billy can’t really parse out, but her outward reaction is limited to a blink and then glancing away. 

It makes Billy itch. 

But everything remains civil. She comes inside, Steve nudges him a little when he doesn’t acknowledge her beyond a non-committal jerk of his chin, Max tries to cover up the awkwardness by being as loud as possible. 

“Billy, I’m taking some cookies home with me,” she declares, standing and staring him down pointedly. 

“...Okay.” 

“Come pack them up for me.”

“...Okay?”

She trots into the kitchen before he’s even had the chance to get up. Not that he was in any hurry to move. The second he does he misses Steve’s warm presence at his side. 

He looks back at Steve before he goes, like some fuckin’ puppydog with no object permenance, making sure he’s still there or something. He is. He smiles, soft in that way that lights Billy up inside, gets him smiling back without even thinking about it, all gooey-eyed and smitten. Takes him a second to remember they aren’t alone, and gets ahold of himself. 

And Wheeler apparently doesn’t have the decency to not stare at them while they’re having a moment, when Billy glances over at her she’s pinning him with this thoughtful look that he does  _ not  _ trust. Despite the way the corner of her mouth ticks upwards and her smile is almost fond.

Off-putting, if you ask Billy. 

He scowls and follows Max into the kitchen. 

She was waiting for him, arms crossed and a frown pinching her expression. “Stop being weird,” she hisses at him the second he’s close enough to hear.

“Fuck off.”

“They dated  _ ages _ ago, Billy, get over it.”

“Fuck  _ off.” _

“You can’t seriously be jealous, I mean come on—”

_ “Max. _ I’m not, alright? Drop it.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “Fine. But Nancy is actually really cool, okay.”

“Sure.” 

“She  _ is.” _

“Okay.”

Max huffs at him, one dramatic, irritated exhale, her face all scrunched up and judging him. 

He rolls his eyes. “What, you got a crush on her or something?”

She turns red and squeaks,  _ “No!” _

Oh. Wow, okay. That explains the Madonna poster she was real hinky about buying a couple months ago. Looking guilty as shit and jumpy when Billy asked her what she’d picked out. He should’ve known then. It was the same look he got when he was her age, buying a copy of  _ Rolling Stone _ with Jeff Bridges on the cover, knowing he wasn’t going to read a single page of it. 

“...She’s too old for you, Max.”

A cookie bounces off his forehead and lands on the counter with a crumbly  _ thump _ . 

Neither of them move for a second, until Max starts giggling. Billy brushes off the bits stuck to his face with exaggerated distaste, glaring at her from between his fingers, and her laughter escalates to full-on cackling. 

She’s so caught up in her amusement she doesn’t notice him grab the cookie off the counter until it’s being smushed into her hair, crumbs flying everywhere, catching in her braid, falling to the floor. She shrieks, batting at him, dancing away. 

_ “Augh,  _ you asshole!”

He grins widely, smug, wiping the crumbs from his fingers while Max paws at her head with a mutinous glower. “You started it.”

“Oh,  _ very _ mature,” Max grumbles. 

They manage to pack up the rest without any more casualties. Max’s container ends up a little more jam-packed than it rightfully should be, but she doesn’t seem to mind that her cookies are a little mashed up. She tucks it under her arm with a little pleased grin, anyway, so Billy assumes it’s fine.

Steve and Nancy are having a hushed conversation that abruptly ends when Billy and Max walk in, and Billy tries  _ desperately  _ to keep himself from overthinking it. And then, as Max is putting her jacket and boots on Nancy throws her arms around Steve’s neck.

She whispers something in his ear that makes him smile, and pulls away, glancing over at Billy. “Merry Christmas, Hargrove,” she says with a little grin. 

He’s not being weird about it. He isn’t. He gives her a little two-finger salute and is totally normal. 

Max knocks the wind out of him with her goodbye hug, which, as distractions go, is a mixed bag, but he’ll take it. He pats the top of her head. “See you later, half-pint.” 

She snorts. “Merry Christmas, dickhead.”

“Yeah, you too.”

Steve’s hug from Max comes without the insults or tackling. They say their goodbyes, Nancy waving from the doorway while the wind blows snow onto Billy’s rug. 

And then he’s alone with Steve.

He’s alone with Steve after they almost kissed. 

Billy’s palms start to sweat a little while he stares at his front door. Before he can figure out how to act Steve breaks the silence. “I heard your talk with Max, I didn’t mean to but your place is  _ tiny _ , I’m sorry,” he says all in a rush, like he’s been rehearsing it in his head this whole time and could finally let it out. He’s got the tiniest grimace tugging at his mouth and it’s kind of adorable.

“Okay.”

Steve blinks at him. “...Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“I...okay.” He deflates a little, and musses with his hair. “You didn’t have to tell her not to tell anyone.”

“Yeah I did.” Billy rubs his shoulder, and looks away. “She’s shit at secrets, and those kids of yours are nosy as fuck. You don’t know how they might react, I just…” He meets Steve’s eyes again. Big, beautiful doe-eyes, watching him so gently he could fucking cry. “It should be your choice, if you want them to know or not. I was just...trying to protect you.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts, slowly, into a little smile. “Aww,” he coos. “It’s okay, Billy, I’m okay with people knowing. Oh, that reminds me, actually, Nancy and I had a nice little talk and she...” He gets a little faraway look, eyes crinkling at the corners as he remembers, “Uh, she said to tell you about her and Robin. Fair’s fair and all, because she knows about us now.”

Billy blinks. There’s a lot going on in that sentence that takes a minute to sink in. Mostly because  _ knows about us _ made his heart clench.  _ Us _ . Because they’re a...couple. Now? Probably? Yeah, that’s gonna take some getting used to. 

“So, I’ve told you. I guess,” Steve laughs a little, “Yeah, they’re dating. And Robin already  _ sort of _ knows about you and me—” Oof, there it is again. “—because the mistletoe thing was her idea. Well, it was a joke, actually. And I sort of ran with it. She thought it was dumb.”

He’s babbling, and it occurs to Billy that Steve’s probably nervous too. 

Billy takes a step towards him. “I might have to thank her then…” He bats his eyelashes a little, playing it up. Might as well, right. Flirty has always been a good cover for nervous, and they can’t  _ both _ be wrecks if this is going to go anywhere. “You still have that mistletoe, Bambi?” 

Steve stops, mouth falling open to form a little  _ o. _ He shuffles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, uh—” Billy stops, freezes, and Steve waves a frantic hand, wide-eyed, “Wait, I—when Max walked in I  _ threw it _ , I don’t know where it went! I still—” he deflates a little, expression going soft, and he reaches out to take Billy’s hand. “I still want this. You. I want you.”

“Oh,” Billy responds after a beat, struck dumb by the emotional whiplash. The momentary blind panic, then Steve going and saying  _ that _ and making Billy all weak in the knees. “Well...good,” he mumbles. So much for not being a nervous wreck. He’s wobbly over a few words and some hand-holding. 

It hits him then, that this is  _ actually  _ happening. They’re alone, they’re in mutual whatever. There’s nothing stopping him from kissing Steve Harrington. That’s a thing he’s allowed to do. 

After all this time, fantasizing about Steve and his goddamn mouth. Watching him chew pencils in class like he was  _ trying _ to get under Billy’s skin. Then, laying awake at night, sleep never coming easily. Shoving a careless hand down the front of his shorts, picturing spit-shiny lips, parted and panting, the sweat beading on his mole-dotted skin after basketball practice. 

And then  _ agonizing _ over it. Twisting himself up inside trying to get away from his own thoughts. 

All of it, the pain and the anger, seem miles away, like the memory of a nightmare. And now, reality, the weight of Steve’s hand in his, the way he smells like sugar cookies and hairspray and the comforting softness of whatever detergent he uses. How close he’s standing, looking at Billy like he hung the fucking moon, with those warm, dark eyes of his roaming Billy’s face, and his pretty pink lips curled into a smile. 

And Billy is in awe. 

He reaches out, traces the curve of Steve’s mouth. “You’re a dream come true, you know that?” he says quietly, and shivers when Steve huffs, a gust of hot air against his palm.

“You say that to all the boys?”

Billy shakes his head. “I mean it.” He lets his fingertips trail down Steve’s chin, falling to his chest, pressing over his heart, palm flat and fingers splayed. “Never thought I’d get to do this.”

“Mm, well, wait ‘til you hear about all the other things I’ll let you do,” Steve laughs softly, and leans in, only to touch his forehead to Billy’s. “Let me—” he briefly lets their noses rub together, breath warming Billy’s lips for a second before moving to the side and pressing a feather-light kiss to his cheek. His free hand comes up to cup Billy’s jaw. “Let me show you what  _ I _ dream about.”

Billy exhales slowly, shaky, the corner of his mouth tugging into a half-smile, “You say that to all the boys?” 

A quiet chuckle tickles his ear. “Just you.” Steve nudges him back, presses in close, hand falling from Billy’s face to his chest to guide him along.

The couch hits the back of Billy’s knees, and he buckles, landing on the cushion with a muffled  _ thump _ . Steve stands above him, wintry daylight filtering in through the curtain behind him, a snapshot, backlit by soft white. He looks ethereal, for a moment, untouchably beautiful, before he props a knee up, onto the couch, on either side of Billy’s thighs, and sits. He’s made flesh again, still gorgeous, but warm and real. A weight in Billy’s lap, a heavy gaze fixed on his mouth, a hand sliding up his chest.

Billy’s heartbeat trips, stops, stutters, when Steve’s breath ghosts across his jaw, down his neck. He hooks a finger into the collar of Billy’s shirt, tugging down, and bowing his head to kiss the exposed skin. Gentle, at first, just the barest touch. The suggestion of a kiss. Then firmer, enough that Billy can feel the curve of his mouth, the smile tugging at his lips. 

Every touch leaves him warmer, skin tingling from the attention, dizzy from the honeyed smell of his hair as it brushes his chin. He runs his hand up Steve’s back, clutching at his sweater with a sharp inhale when teeth scrape his collarbone. 

_ “Steve…” _ Billy whines, a plea that slips out without his permission. 

Steve bites down. The sudden, sharp pressure sends a bolt of heat through his gut, and he groans, low in his throat. He drops his head back against the couch cushions, baring his throat, allowing easier access, staring at the ceiling with his lips parted, breathing shallow. His eyes fall shut when Steve runs his tongue up the column of his throat, instead of a sudden jolt this time the heat pools, gathers, fills him up as Steve continues on, nipping and pressing soothing kisses to the marks he leaves behind. 

He squirms underneath Steve’s weight, lifting his hips to meet Steve’s, desperately chasing sensations, relief, pawing at Steve’s chest, and then, eventually, the front of his slacks. But Steve gently takes ahold of his wrists, puts Billy’s hands on his hips instead, slipping under his sweater to rest against the soft curve of his waist. 

“I want to take care of you,” he whispers into the crook of Billy’s neck, fingers sliding up Billy’s forearms, caressing the sensitive skin, raising goosebumps. Billy bites down on his bottom lip, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Steve presses a kiss to one of the reddened patches littering Billy’s skin. “Please.” He shifts, slowly, grinding purposefully against the bulge Billy’s sweatpants are doing nothing to hide. 

He moans, not expecting it, too lost in the electric jolt of pleasure that crackles through him, the delicious pressure of Steve’s thighs bracketing his, the way his skin tingles  _ everywhere _ when he feels the press of Steve’s mouth, the heat of him. 

He opens his eyes, looks at Steve as he pulls back to stare down at him with dark eyes, pupils blown and heavy with intent. 

Steve cups his jaw, holding his face in both hands. “You’re gorgeous.” He kisses Billy’s nose. His cheek. Pulls back again, forehead resting against Billy’s, looking into his eyes. He shifts his hips again and Billy whines, panting, breath mingling with Steve’s own ragged little gasps. “God, look at you. All this,” he punctuates with another slow grind of his hips, “for me.” Billy’s vision is going hazy, and he clutches Steve’s waist with a bruising grip. 

Billy nods, without thinking, and Steve beams, thumbing Billy’s bottom lip.

“Yeah?” Steve breathes. 

“Mhm,” Billy hums in response, and catches Steve’s thumb between his teeth, gently, nips the pad of it, and  _ sucks _ , sealing his lips around the appendage, eyes locked with Steve’s. 

Steve groans, watching  _ intently,  _ gaze burning into Billy’s half-lidded stare. He feels Steve’s cock twitch against his stomach, arches his back into it, and Steve bites his lip, choking back another noise. “Billy…”

He sucks Steve’s thumb again, running his tongue up the length and flicking the tip once, twice. 

_ “Jesus.” _ Steve brushes stray curls from Billy’s forehead with his free hand, tucking them behind his ear. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He exhales slowly, watching Billy’s mouth.

Billy’s heart does a backflip, stomach swooping, warm and floaty from the attention. He pulls off of Steve’s thumb with a pop, leans in, hoping, wanting…

But Steve—hand combing through Billy’s curls, then coming to rest on the back of his neck—presses a kiss to his forehead instead. His temple. His jaw. Softly, he presses his lips everywhere but where Billy  _ wants  _ them _ , needs  _ them  _ right fucking now _ —

Thumb still slick with spit, Steve palms Billy’s cock, rubbing him through his pants, leaving dark streaks of dampness. All thoughts fly from Billy’s head at the contact. He thrusts greedily into Steve’s hand, thigh muscles taut, tensing and vibrating. Distantly, he’s aware that Steve is watching him, dark eyes tracing his slack mouth, his heaving chest. 

The sensitive skin of his dick, too-dry and rubbing against the worn material of his sweatpants, starts to throb painfully from the friction. He should stop, should remove the barrier, at  _ least _ , but he keeps going, keeps letting Steve touch him, keeps shamelessly rutting against his palm like his life depends on it. 

Heat coils tightly in his gut, and his vision swims. Steve presses another kiss to his face, his cheek this time, soft lips brushing the corner of Billy’s mouth and making his head spin. 

“Steve,” Billy gasps between panting breaths, “Steve, I— _ fuck.”  _ His hand stills, and slides up Billy’s stomach instead, under his shirt.  _ “Steve.” _

“Mhm?” he hums into the crook of Billy’s neck, grinning at his whiny tone. Before Billy can protest the lost contact, the absolute _travesty_ of leaving him bereft like this, Steve tweaks his nipple, tracing around it with a fingernail, pinching, drawing noises from Billy he didn’t know he could make.

“Jesus Christ,” Billy groans, and takes Steve’s face in his hands, pulling him upwards, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. No more teasing, no more waiting. 

He throws himself into it, sucking Steve’s bottom lip, swallowing his moan when he seals their mouths together properly, fingers sliding back into Steve’s hair to hold him close. He’s only in control for a few seconds, Steve melting into his touch, intoxicatingly pliant under his palms, it’s a beautiful, dizzying few seconds, before Steve recovers enough to give as good as he gets. 

And it’s  _ devastating.  _ Billy’s never been kissed so thoroughly, so reverently, Steve kisses like he has all the time in the world. Like there’s nowhere he’d rather be. Tongue tracing the seam of Billy’s mouth, savouring every press of his plush lips, spit-slicked and kiss-pinkened. 

The pace of their kissing intensifies, gets sloppier as Billy bucks his hips, Steve grinds down, not quite in tandem, both of them desperate for friction, chasing that heat, the sparks of pleasure. 

Billy gasps against Steve’s mouth, when one particularly clever flick of his tongue sends a shiver down his spine, and his pace stutters, sparks hitting just the right spot to catch, setting Billy aflame, the pool of heat in his gut flooding his body. He shudders, hard, fingers fisted in Steve’s hair, bottom lip trapped between Steve’s teeth as he continues his shallow thrusts, continues to send waves of pleasure coursing through Billy as he comes, cock painting a dark patch on the front of his sweatpants.

Once Billy’s stopped shaking, Steve slows, still hard in his stupid khakis, brushing Billy’s oversensitive cock as he moves, sending shocks of pleasure-pain shooting through him. He groans, pressing lazy kisses to Steve’s mouth, and tugs on his hair to get his attention.

Which it does, but not how he expects. Steve’s cock twitches. He moans, low in his throat, back arching. Billy tugs again, experimentally, and pulls a gasp from him, breaking their liplock as Steve turns to mush in his hands, his eyes hazy with pleasure, staring down at Billy.

His mouth is a work of fucking art. All kiss-bitten and shiny with Billy’s saliva,  _ god _ . Billy can feel himself desperately trying to get hard again at the sight.

“Pretty boy, you’re a wonder, you know that?” he murmurs breathlessly, tightening his grip on Steve’s thick locks, heart pounding when Steve tilts his head back, lips parted and turned upward at the corners, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark with lust. 

Steve grinds their cocks together, pointedly. Billy trembles, jolts at the sensations. His come is dripping down the inside of his thigh, sticky and soaking into his pants, and his dick gives another pathetic little kick. 

“I take it back, you’re a menace,” Billy laughs, wiggling uncomfortably in his own mess.

“Rude.” Steve kisses him. One brief peck on the mouth. Absurdly chaste considering his hard-on is poking Billy in the belly button. 

“Oh, my apologies. Please, let me make it up to you, your majesty.” 

Steve snorts, absently stroking Billy’s chest. “What did you have in mind?”

Oh, so much.  _ So _ much. But there’s one thing Billy’s been thinking about since the day they met, that he’s thought about with near obsessive consistency, that he’s sure he could die happy if he did just  _ once _ —

He lets his hands fall, coming to rest on Steve’s thighs. “I want to suck you off.” 

“You—” Steve blinks. “Want to... _ oh.”  _

“What, King Steve never had a mouth on his dick before?” Billy teases, running his fingertips along the creases in Steve’s pants. He  _ really _ doubts that’s the case, if any of the stories he’s heard are even a tiny bit true, but it’s worth it for the bratty little eye-roll he gets in response.

“I’ve been blown before, Billy, I just…” he trails off, and bites his lip. 

“Hey.” Billy leans in, nosing Steve’s cheek, nuzzling. “What is it?” he asks, as gently as he can. 

He’s silent for a second. “You  _ want _ to?” The question comes out so quietly Billy barely hears him.

Billy huffs a laugh, “I mean. Yeah.”

“Are you...sure? I—” he pauses, winces, “Look, I’ve never sucked a dick before, so I don’t... _ know,  _ but the girls that have done it for me haven’t really…”

Billy puts two fingers to Steve’s mouth, silencing him. “Listen, I don’t care what Hawkins girls like, alright. I’m not Wheeler, or Amy Whatever, or Carol—”

“I never fucked Carol,” Steve mumbles against Billy’s fingers.

“That’s not what Tommy says. Anyways, the fuckin’  _ point _ is. You remember that first time we had basketball practice together?” He waits until he feels Steve nod, then pulls back a little. He trails his fingers from Steve’s mouth to his jaw, cups his face, and looks him in the eye. “I went home that night, and the second I got the chance I grabbed  _ the  _ most phallic vegetable I could find, and rubbed one out with it jammed as far into my mouth as I could get it.” 

_ “What?” _

“Yeah. Did that so often I think I might be a little shocked when your dick doesn’t taste like cucumber.” He chuckles when Steve chokes on a laugh. “I wanted to drop to my knees right there in the showers, Bambi. Tommy could’ve been watching for all I cared.” Steve’s tongue darts out, swiping across his bottom lip, his gaze heavy on Billy’s mouth, and Billy is  _ living _ for it. He leans down to nip the skin below Steve’s jaw. “Wanted to feel you come down my throat. Would’ve swallowed it, you know. Taken it all and asked for seconds. Wanted it so bad I couldn’t fucking stand it.” 

“Jesus, Billy,” Steve breathes. 

“Still do. Wanna know what you really taste like,” he licks a wet stripe up Steve’s neck. “Wanna make it so good for you, baby, I’ll be so fucking good.” 

_ “Shit _ .” Steve turns his face to meet Billy’s, capturing his lips, fervently, hungrily, pressing Billy into the cushions, kissing him open-mouthed and filthy. Billy licks into his mouth, and  _ god _ , he could listen to Steve moan for hours. But when he starts moving his hips, rutting against Billy’s stomach, Billy pushes him back with gentle hands. 

“Let me,” he whispers against Steve’s lips between kisses. “My turn to take care of you.”

He pauses, shallow breaths mingling with Billy’s. “Okay.” 

Billy grins. Kisses Steve once more, twice, three times, before he nudges him off, onto the couch, and slips down onto his knees on the floor. 

Steve looks absolutely wrecked, sitting there, his lips so,  _ so _ red, hair a mess from Billy’s wandering hands, gaze hazy and heavy-lidded, fixed on Billy. His chest is heaving, and Billy almost can’t fucking believe he’s about to blow someone wearing  _ that _ goddamn sweater, but Jesus Christ he’s wanted this for so long he’s practically salivating and he, at this point, does not care that Steve’s taste in knitwear is so lacking.

He wastes no time unbuttoning Steve’s pants. Just the small amount of contact that takes—Billy’s knuckles brushing his bulge, fingertips pressed to it only for a moment—has Steve biting his lip and canting his hips ever-so-slightly. 

He could tease a little, mouth at his underwear until it’s damp, kiss his navel, suck bruises into his thighs, bite and lick and linger until Steve begs him to touch his cock, but he’s so tired of waiting he’d only be torturing himself.

Next time.

Instead he hooks a finger into the elastic band of Steve’s briefs, and tugs it down, letting his erection bob free. He’s already leaking precum, flushed and wet and fucking delicious.

He slides his palm up, down, rubbing Steve’s thigh, while he takes the base of his cock in the other hand. Steve tenses, muscles trembling, as Billy presses a kiss just above his fist, then drags up the length, mouthing, tasting salt and sweat and musk. His eyelids flutter closed as he savours the feeling, soft skin against his lips, Steve’s enticing groan, the smell of him. 

He kisses the tip, open-mouthed, swirling his tongue around it, sucking lightly. The taste, the feel of him on his tongue, it sends a bolt of pleasure through him, warmth pooling in his gut. He’s chubbing up again, soiled sweatpants tenting, his own come drying sticky on his skin. 

Steve groans above him as Billy continues, pushing further down, lips wrapped around his cock. He makes it about halfway down, drooling, before he pulls back up with a pop, and looks up at Steve with a grin. 

His chest is heaving, and he’s staring down at Billy, mouth hanging open, pink tongue darting out to wet his lips, cheeks rosy. 

Billy nuzzles his cock, spit and pre smearing on his cheek. “You good?”

Steve huffs a breathless laugh, “Jesus Christ, yeah.” 

“Mm,” he hums, kissing velvety skin, fingers working up and down the lower half of Steve’s dick, slowly, caressing the long, veiny shaft. “Good.”

He plunges back down, diving right back in without warning, and Steve gasps, loud, moaning, fisting the worn couch cover, scrabbling at the material for purchase, looking for something to hang on to as Billy bobs on his cock.

_ “Billy _ —!”

Billy grabs one of Steve’s hands, guiding it to his hair, letting Steve thread his fingers through golden curls. He’s had men take that as blanket permission before, to pull, grab handfuls and yank until tears spring to his eyes, push him down ‘til his nose hits pubic hair, hold him there until he can’t breathe, use him, fuck his throat and come without warning. 

This isn’t that. Billy would’ve been good with it if it was, but instead Steve is careful with him, combing his curls back from his face, gripping tightly but not pulling. 

He’s falling apart under Billy’s touches, his mouth, his tongue, his fingers, gasping for breath and crying out, but he remains gentle, and Billy’s having a hard time wrapping his brain around that.

Not that he needs to, he’s got better things to wrap around right now, but it’s still there, niggling at him.

He looks up at Steve, and finds him staring, his eyes hazy and heavy and unfocused, but still trained on Billy. The eye-contact is electric. 

As is watching Steve bite his red,  _ red _ bottom lip, bangs flopping onto his forehead, sweat beading and sticking the locks of hair to his skin. His dark, chocolatey eyes so fucking beautiful, thick lashed and heavy-lidded. Every twitch of his face as he groans, mouth falling open, eyebrows knitting together, debauched and unravelling. 

His own cock is straining at his pants again, hard and leaking, throbbing every time Steve’s dick hits the back of his throat, every time Steve whines his name, stuttering between gasps. 

“Oh god, Billy,  _ Billy, _ I’m—I—” His mouth falls open soundlessly, eyes screwed shut, shuddering as he climaxes, come spurting into Billy’s mouth, coating his tongue. He keeps his lips sealed around Steve’s cock, sucking, cheeks hollowed, all through his orgasm, until he collapses, boneless, against the cushions behind him. 

Billy savours the bitter, salty tang of it, the heat pooling in his belly as his throat works, swallowing what he can with Steve’s cock still resting on his tongue.

He pulls off reluctantly. Steve breathing hitches as Billy’s lips trail down his softening length, twitching, oversensitive. 

_ “Billy,” _ Steve whines, as he’s finally released, his dick falling against his stomach, shiny with Billy’s spit. Billy takes a second to admire the view, Steve’s fingers still carding through his curls. “God, you’re amazing,” he murmurs, and Billy flushes. “So good.”

His dick throbs, demanding attention. Billy noses Steve’s thigh, his groin, the course thatch of curls peeking out of his underwear. “Keep doing that,” he breathes, “Please.” 

“You’re so pretty, down there on your knees for me, so beautiful.” Apparently he didn’t need much prompting. He pets Billy’s hair, and keeps up the quiet stream of praise.

Billy shoves a hand down his pants, fingers wrapping around his neglected cock. He moans, his callouses rough against sensitive, overheated flesh. He presses his forehead to Steve’s stomach, the scent of musk and sweat filling his nose. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart, look at you.” Steve toys with the curls at the base of his neck, fingers dancing across his flushed skin, gentle touches while he fucks his fist, harsh, damp breaths muffled against Steve’s belly. “You’re perfect.” He pauses, his caresses stopping for a moment. “I love you.”

Billy comes with a gasp, orgasm hitting him like a sledgehammer to the gut, heart pounding, hips jerking, gripping a white-knuckled fistful of Steve’s pant leg. 

He relaxes as the waves of hot, blinding pleasure subside, but he can’t look up yet. Stays on the floor, hiding his face against Steve’s hip, one hand still clutching his khakis, the other hanging limply around his softening cock, covered in come. Even as his head clears, breath evening out, the fog of lust in his brain dissipating, he stays put. 

His pulse does not slow, no matter how many deep breaths he takes. 

Steve has resumed stroking his hair, and Billy idly wonders if he could just stay here, like this, forever. 

“...Billy?” Steve’s voice is quiet, tentative. “Was that...too much?”

Immediately, Billy shakes his head. 

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

A pause. 

Billy lifts his face, cool air hitting the wetness on his cheeks. Steve stares down at him, wide-eyed, cups Billy’s jaw and wipes at the tears with his thumb. “Billy, I’m sorry, I—”

He shakes his head again, clumsily, cheek smushing against Steve’s palm. He pulls his hand out from below his waistband and wipes it on his pants. “Did you mean it?” he croaks, his voice rough and breaking. 

Steve slides off the couch, landing in Billy’s lap, squishing them both between the coffee table and the loveseat, pressing his forehead to Billy’s.  _ “Yes,”  _ he says firmly. “Billy, I love you. I love you  _ so _ much.”

His hands come up to rest on Steve’s chest, fingers curling into the knitted fleece. A fresh wave of tears trickle down his face, blurring his vision. He exhales slowly, unsteadily. “I...can you say it again.”

“I’ll say it as much as you want.” Steve kisses his nose. “I love you.” 

Billy ducks his head, nestling against Steve’s shoulder, and Steve shifts to accommodate him, wrapping his arms around his waist, one palm flat at the small of Billy’s back, the other skimming fingertips up and down his spine. 

They sit like that for a bit, while the snow falls outside, casting shadows on the wall. It’s warm in the trailer, and Steve smells like home. Billy turns his head, burying his face in Steve’s sweater.

“Say it again,” he says, muffled.

Steve kisses Billy’s temple. “I love you.”

A breath. A pause. Billy’s heart pounds against his ribcage, like it’s trying to break free. He swallows hard against the lump in his throat and, “...I love you too,” he says softly.

Steve beams, smile pressed into Billy’s hair, his embrace tightens, and he exhales, ruffling stray curls. “Yeah?”

Billy looks up, into warm brown eyes, his grin like sunshine warming Billy’s face. “Yeah.” He kisses Steve, sweet and chaste, lingering. “Merry Christmas, pretty boy.”

“Mm, the  _ best _ Christmas.”

**Author's Note:**

> i had to resist titling this all i want for christmas (is you)  
> because, c'mon. that's it. that's the fic.  
> i ended up taking the title from angel by aerosmith... because it's 100% a harringrove song dont @ me. and it came out the same year i set this fic in, so. idk. it's like 1am and coming up with titles is bleh.  
> hope u liked the fic <3 <3 happy holidays yall


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